


You're Doing It Wrong

by pikirachu (saintdoriangray)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/F, Locker Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintdoriangray/pseuds/pikirachu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott had given her butterflies in her stomach, but Malia goes deeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Doing It Wrong

It felt nothing like dancing at the rave.

Malia’s handprints burned into her skin, ghosting their movement through Kira’s clothing—even long after the night had come to a close. Even with the affluence of the Yukimura and Martin households and the work ethic of part-time vet assistant Scott McCall, there was a necessary comfort in being squished tight in the back of Stiles’ Jeep, head tilted on a cold window and legs tucked neatly against the door.

She twitches briefly in her sleep, remnants of a movement she’d only just learned, taught by someone who’d spent all her life moving purely on instinct. It was a novel shift from forethought.

But where there was supposed to be the warmth of makeshift-pack along her thighs, there was only emptiness and the gentle snore of a younger Derek Hale leaning across the way. A quick flash of her eyes and a head check leaves one down for the count, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to track her down, a little farther from civilization than was comfortable.

It was almost impressive that she snuck out with so many heightened senses on guard.

The view from this particularly cliff is spectacular at night—the type not spoiled by bright city lights or dimmed suburban comforts. It’s quiet in the way that Kira imagines Beacon Hills could have been, once upon a time.

“Coyotes are nocturnal.” It’s not cold in the least, but that doesn’t stop Kira from sidling up to Malia, touching shoulder to shoulder, and thigh to thigh—a mirror of what they were supposed to be doing in the Jeep. If only Kira could be so lucky as to get some rest, but at least she wasn’t the one driving.

“So are foxes.”

Malia’s voice isn’t cold, merely factual—much like everything she says. They both come from vastly different sets of rules, but it’s nice to know that she isn’t the only one who’s been doing a little extra homework outside of school. Granted, she isn’t going to admit any time soon that she’d read that out of a children’s book too.

An hour in, Malia’s arms wrap around her waist and Kira tilts them both flat backed on the dirt. Her gaze is trained at the sky, hypnotized by the bright lights, and she could swear one of them flashes blue. Hallucination comes in stages—not that she would know—but she briefly rubs at her eyes, repeating slow blinks until her lids finally stay closed.

She wakes up in the Jeep as she was before—pressed flush against the Jeep wall. The only evidence she hadn’t been dreaming is out of sight: a new brush of dirt smudged on her torso, where calloused fingers had slipped underneath her shirt.

————————

Scott had given her butterflies in her stomach, but Malia goes deeper. The feeling pushes fast between her legs, leaving Kira to bite back tiny whimpers into her pillow with her ass in the air, fingers shoved deep into her core.

It’s the fifth time she’s had to wash her sheets this week—and it’s only a Wednesday.

————————

Malia gets suspended from the lacrosse team for “repeated unsportsmanlike conduct.” It wasn’t very sportsmanlike of the other time to grope her in the middle of a game, and Kira finds that threatening to rip his throat out with her teeth was a very appropriate response to that sort of affair. It’s amazing they were even fast enough to catch her in the first place—but Scott had told them to go easy. It wouldn’t be cool if everyone thought they were on “juice.”

Scott was very adamant about using the word “juice.”

But at least Malia was still allowed to practice with them in the meantime—not that it was any advantage to Kira, in the least. Why would there be any advantage in a locker room? That was just dumb.

————————

Kira understands her mistake better after practice, when she’s shoved herself in a stall, breathing through her shirt sleeve, and rubbing her fingers hard between her folds. Secretly, she prays that Malia accidentally left something in her locker.

(She hates that she prays it.)

————————

————————

Stiles taught her that apologies are important—but not to always apologize, because that’s annoying, and then also that sometimes it’s better not to apologize if the person doesn’t deserve it, but then also that it’s still nice to apologize even if the person doesn’t deserve it.

Stiles is confusing.

Humanity is confusing.

There are so many arbitrary rules that make no sense, logic that isn’t based in survival, but in pleasure. She doesn’t understand how people live that way—then again, she hadn’t really known pleasureexcept in survival.

She practices versions of “I’m sorry” she’s learning from TV shows—different ways of saying things that aren’t just explicit. Malia doesn’t understand it, but if this is how she will get people to understand her (if this is what will make Stiles happy), then Malia will do it.

She reaches in her bag for her new list of human-homework, hastily scrawled in Stiles’ chicken scratch. It isn’t there. She backtracks all the way to the school, but stops at the entrance of the locker room.

————————

————————

The stall door swings open and Kira’s caught. She wipes her hands on her thighs and the toilet paper next to her, stammering apologies and human practices about privacy as if Kira can explain away her own embarrassment.

“You weren’t doing it right.”

Malia is looking at her with a puzzled face, more confused at Kira than anything that had to do with shame or disgust or even haughtiness.

“E-excuse me?” Kira stands up before she’s promptly shoved back down by a gentle push of Malia’s hand.

“You’re doing it wrong. You sounded more frustrated than pleased. Let m—“

————————

————————

The desert is easy. It’s not like like the woods back home, but it’s still less of a mess than cityscapes and flashing lights. There is a mirror pattern between forest danger and people danger, the easiest of which to gauge was in the middle of a crowded club, moving to fight and moving because it felt good. 

Kira’s head rests on her arm and she breathes shallow into the crook of Malia’s shoulder. Kissing Stiles had made it easier to concentrate on bridging the gap between human and coyote. She wonders if doing the same for Kira would help her accept her fox.

————————

————————

Kira’s teeth clench tight on Malia’s jersey and her hands are clenched tight at her shoulders. Her legs shake twice for every pump of Malia’s fingers and she’s near tears at keeping it all inside. Kira’s shirt and bra have been shoved out of the way, leaving her torso bare for Malia’s hands to pinch and grope and hold tight.

“Just let go.” Malia’s breath is hot at Kira’s ears and all Kira can do is refuse, chant in a litany that she can’t, it’s too much, it’s—

Malia shuts her up with a bite to her lips, and it’s far too rough and commanding to be a kiss.

Her eyes flash amber and a rush of blood pumps through her system.

They don’t dim.


End file.
